Tuesday 5th January: So long Christmas

This is about as exciting as it gets in the house now that the Christmas decs are packed away in the loft. The only remains are the chocolates, and the falling snow outside.

What is now a pouffe, was a glistening Christmas tree, and so impressed was I by its beauty, I even wrote a drunken ode to the thing.

The house is now bare, and the light has gone.

God, I hate January.

Wednesday 23rd December: My Christmas tree

An ode to my Christmas tree:

Oh Christmas tree, how bright thee shine,
I look at you and think: 'You can't be thine';
Your baubles dangle, your lights divine,
How I wish you were there all the time.

But where are the presents, thou should guard?
Not one in sight, not even a card;
That stingy ***tard, how could he forget,
Santa Claus, this you'll regret.

Yet, Christmas is for giving, so I am told,
and I know Santa will be here, despite being old;
And I will thank him for his presents, I will,
But if he doesn't get me what I want, I'll head for the hills.

So, Christmas tree, thank you for being here,
Your memory, I'll hold dear;
But next year, if you don't mind the bind,
Please deliver what I want, if you'd be so kind.